


Phobophobia

by taylortighten



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, No IM3 spoilers, Phobias, Tiny little background ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylortighten/pseuds/taylortighten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phobophobia is a phobia defined as the fear of phobias. Everyone has them, some are better hidden than other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony Stark

"Fuck!"

"Was that Iron Man?" Captain America questioned, turning from Black Widow in the direction where he heard the swear.

"It certainly does sound like his brand of charm." She piped in, raising a delicate eyebrow and nearing the rubble, ready for a possible fight. There was always the chance that Tony had flown off to get burgers or something, that he wasn't really trapped underneath what was left of a six-story building.

At least, that's what the hope was.

"All right, so, uh, Jarvis has gone a bit silent on me. Guess I'll sit here wondering if anyone else can here me or if maybe this is what hell is like-"

"Iron Man, we hear you, Thor is on his way to help move rubble, and we'll get to you shortly." The Captain started, confident that the other man was completely unharmed, seeing as he was being his usual self under the mess of concrete and steel.

"-Because it's really kind of odd, don't you think? I mean, I always knew I was going to hell, but I didn't ever think it would be so realistic. Hah, that's just what this is all about, right? Hell isn't fire and hard labor for a dude with a spiked tail, it's boring and dirty and-"

"Captain, I don't think he can hear us." Hawkeye commented, raising an eyebrow at the ranting the team was listening to.

"Even more reason for us to aid him." Boasted Thor, dropping his hammer to grab a nearby boulder.

"-Swear to God, if this is all there is for eternity, I really might need to start praying to God, or find some sort of religion. Is it too late if I'm already dead?-"

The rest of the team, (minus the Hulk, who was busy chuckling and smashing the last of the robots with a car he found) began digging, lifting heavy rubbing and checking to make sure there was no sight of the billionaire ahead. Hawkeye was quick to remind Thor that if he moved things too fast, more of the building could collapse on top of Iron Man. Granted, Clint wasn't necessarily saying the Iron Man suit couldn't handle the weight, and that Tony couldn't use the realism of the situation.

"-Makes sense, really, if you think about it... Oh, Jarvis, you're back online? No, no, cranberries are not needed. Blood? Where?"

Steve perked up at that while the rest of the team tuned it out and kept working, struggling through the sheer size of the mess in front of them. Thor was really the only one other than Captain America that could shift enough stone to make a dent, so Hawkeye and the Black Widow sat back, directing the demi-God, arguing about how they should go on.

"Huh, I didn't realize so much blood could come out of an ear. My shoulder too? Huh, so that's why I can't feel my arm." Tony thought aloud, or spoke to Jarvis, sort of. The machinery in the suit was fairly damaged in the crash, but Jarvis' speech was good enough to point out that Tony wasn't dead, just fairly injured.

"Avengers, Iron Man has realized he's not, um, passed on. He is injured though, so be careful that we don't disrupt the fallen building." Cap announced, joining in on the dig, scolding Clint when he didn't join and getting scolded by Natasha when he said she shouldn't participate.

Just over half an hour later, the gap was large enough for the Captain to crawl in and pull off a few last stones from atop Tony.

"Woah! I sure hope that's a hottie straddling me, because this might get really awkward. Especially for the poor suit."

Steve sighed and reached around the Iron Man mask to trigger its release.

"Sorry to disappoint, Iron Man, but in this case, all I can do is straddle you," Immediately after he said that, he frowned and narrowed his eyes at the man below, who had began snickering. "Enough of that, I need to assess the situation from this position because there is not enough room in the tunnel Thor has managed to create."

Before Tony could make any inappropriate remark, Steve went and slid down the armor, sitting right over the metal thighs. Tony decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut, if he wanted to be saved.

"All right, I've got to remove some armor to get you out of here properly. You'll be wedged in if we don't at least get the chest piece off." Cap stated, already fumbling around to see if there was a release like on the helmet.

"No, no, Captain Bossy-pants, that's not happening," The billionaire protested, trying, and failing, to shift himself away from the prodding hands. "All I've got on under this are my velvet boxers. They were a gift from Pepper, I can't let the world see them!" He excused, waving a dented hand in dismissal.

The Captain ignored the complaints, digging his finger under panels and slowly pulling away pieces of the collar and chest and sides, only to reveal bare skin. Bruised and scratched bare skin.

"Iron Man... Tony, we're going to have to get you out of this suit, you look really wounded."

The injured man continued to squirm, getting considerably more upset every time a piece of suit was torn off.

"Release me!" Tony yelled, snatching at one of his captain's hands, struggling so hard he nearly collapsed the small cave they were scrunched in. "Bruce! You can hear me right? Explain to Cap! Fast!"

Steve paused, confusion written across his face, letting the Iron Man suit close back up while he listened to the scientist explain over the com.

"Dishabiliophobia. It means he doesn't like undressing in front of others. Well, in Tony's case, when he's not drunk and in front of a woman."

"Dish... What?" The Captain repeated, shifting around until he could rest back on the balls of his feet, assessing his companion silently, noting the twitching of his fingers and the fear on his face.

"Dishabiliophohia," Bruce repeated, sighing softly. "I read his medical file. He was diagnosed after returning from Afghanistan, after he had to put in the arc reactor. We can pull him out with the armor still on, Steve, don't force him to face his fear head on, not in the midst of all this."

And with that information at hand, Steve had to concede, or leave Tony there, and that was definitely not an option.

Slowly, soon enough with the help of Tony himself and the rest of the Avengers, the suit of armor was pulled out from under the wreckage, crushed and dented and even missing chunks.

Iron Man, as soon as he could stand on his own two feet, muttered a quick thanks to each of the members of his team before giving Bruce a lingering almost-smile. Then, to the surprise of absolutely no one, Tony powered up his suit and flew off, grumbling about having to repair and tinker and build.


	2. Steve Rogers

Steve winced, tugging at the tear in the leg of his uniform. There was only a tiny trickle of blood for a rather large cut, but it seemed to be plugged up with dirt and grass. Wrinkling his nose and scrubbing at the mess with the palm of his gloved hand, he didn't even feel the pain, instead focusing on the grime. All he needed was a quick glance around to know that the medics would take a while before getting to his rather lame would. They were too busy dealing with Tony's arm still crushed in his armor and Natasha's very badly broken leg.

In the meantime, Steve found the nearest bathroom- an empty Starbucks on the corner. Rushing in and ripping the hole in his pants even wider, the Captain stumbled around, huffing and puffing and nearly falling over before finally getting his leg up onto the sink counter. He twisted both of the knobs, whimpering and throwing his dirty gloves off as quickly as possible so he could shove his fingers into the wound, scratching at it roughly.

Steve scrubbed and scrubbed, pumping soap into his hand and adding that to the mess. Wincing, this time in pain from the hand soap, he slowed his efforts, but he didn't stop them. Moving his hands more carefully, Steve massaged the soap into the cracked skin and gently washed the dirt out. Steve hesitated when he reached for the soap again, dampening a paper towel and getting that soapy instead of just dumping the liquid cleaner on again.

There was more blood now, which he saw as a good sign: the more blood flow meant there was less dirt in the wound, less grass and grime. He was at it for a mere ten minutes when there was a gentle knocking at the door.

"Steve? You in there?" A small voice asked; obviously the person had been searching for him.

"Doctor Banner?" The super soldier questioned, temporarily abandoning his clean up project in favor of opening the door for his teammate.

"Have you been in here the whole time?" The doctor asked, frowning and bending over to examine the small injury.

"Have you been looking for me?" Steve frowned when Bruce nodded. "I apologize, I just wanted to clean up without disturbing the paramedics."

"I can see that," Bruce commented, plucking at the torn fabric with an eyebrow raised. "You're doing quite a job with nothing but soap and water."

Steve flashed a sheepish smile, heading back over to the sink to scrub at the dirt coating his face and hands.

Bruce watched him carefully, but the Captain didn't notice the odd look, too busy cleaning himself of every speck of dirt to notice. Twisting his body and bringing his leg back up with more grace than before now that he was in less of a panic mode, Steve glanced over his shoulder as he pumped out more soap, a look of shame flashing over his features.

"They called me a germaphobe when I woke up and took an hour to clean myself, even though I wasn't dirty." He told the scientist quietly, knowing he would be asked sooner or later.

"I would call it automysophobia, actually," Banner corrected, stepping closer and watching his friend's actions with no intent to stop him. "You've shaved drink with Clint and Tony, who I expect are both quite germ ridden. It's only after you get particularly dirty during a battle that you disappear."

"Automysophobia." Steve repeated curiously, pausing to look over at Bruce.

The doctor nodded, wetting a paper towel to help wipe at the grunge left on Steve's leg. The super soldier left the cleaning to his friend, knowing he would probably do a better job with his calm hands rather than Steve's own frantic fingers. He always took so long because he couldn't calm himself down enough, but with another pair of hands, the job would get done much faster.

"It means the 'fear of being dirty'," Bruce clarified after a moment of silence, adding more soap to his wet rag. "It's usually coupled with the fear of illness, or infection." Silence stole over them once more while they both washed him up.

"When I was a kid, before all this," Steve motioned to his obvious musculature. "I was constantly sick. Asthma, pneumonia, just about everything you could think of. I stayed inside all the time because my mother warned me that dirt is what made me ill. It's what made her ill."

"Your fear started after she passed?" The good doc filled in, watching his teammate carefully. Steve nodded shortly, clenching his jaw.

"I thought I've always been good at hiding my clean up. Bucky knew about it, but he never managed to catch me in the act."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." Gently putting a hand on his shoulder before going back to helping, Bruce smiled encouragingly. The Hulk had moved on to scrubbing at a cut on the back of Cap's arm that he never would have been able to reach himself.

They worked in peace for another few minutes, mulling over their conversation. Bruce understood that fear, and he definitely understood shame. He felt for Steve now that he knew the reasoning behind the disappearances, but the doctor knew better than to show any pity for the man. The soldier would feel even worse if he was pitied, or if anyone else found out, so Bruce tossed his used paper towels and leaned against the sink counter.

"Thanks for helping-" Steve started, obviously hesitant.

"Don't worry about it," Bruce interrupted with a pat to Steve's arm. "I won't tell anyone about it, in case you were wondering."

"I really appreciate it, Doctor, I'm just not ready to share this part of my life with everyone just yet."

Nodding in agreement, Bruce glanced into the mirror hanging in front of the two men, double-checking that his friend looked clean enough that he was willing to leave him alone. The ferocity he had seen in Steve's eyes earlier was long gone, replaced by a near calm smile.

Bruce left, leaving the Captain to stare himself down through his reflection. The image that looked back at him was one that made his heart beat a few paces slower. While they had been talking, the two of them managed to completely scrub Steve of the thick layer of grass and mud stains that littered his body and suit. Even the cuts that were scattered amongst his exposed pieces of skin were hardly dripping blood, now that they were given the breathing room to start healing.

At first, being caught red handed made him anxious, but after being able to talk it out, he felt much more content, fortunate that he was associated with a man that could give him such good assistance without being judgmental. After all, upon first approach, Bruce Banner was seen as the monster hiding beneath the skin, not the compassionate man still buried underneath.

It made Steve feel guilty for considering him to be less of a team member, seeing him more as a wrecking ball than anything else.

When he thought about it, he realized that he unfairly judged the doctor. Not only was the man extremely smart and helpful in his normal, human form, but also the Hulk was much more responsive then he thought he would be. He wasn't a beast that went on a rampage, he was a... creature that went along with commands, did more heavy lifting than even Thor, and still felt like he wasn't good enough to be a part of this team.

After this, Steve would consider him in a brighter light. The man helped him through a moment that could've nearly ruined the soldier.

Steve wouldn't let this fear, this phobia, get to him. He was better than it. And with help from people like Bruce, he would prove that not even deep-rooted fears could hold down the small boy from Manhattan.


	3. Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: slightly graphic wound, needles and other doctor-y stuff.

"You have a broken leg."

"I do not, I am well enough to continue the fight, my friend."

Tony stared at Thor, blinking slowly. Bruce on the other hand, rolled his eyes and waved for the stand-by medics to bring over a stretcher. While the others were all still fighting, Tony was using the strength of Iron Man to keep Thor still enough that he wouldn't ruin his leg even more than he had already.

"Bud, this is more than just a little break-"

"Disagreeable, Man of Iron! 'Tis but a scratch." Thor shook his head, putting his hand out for his hammer but getting stopped by Bruce.

"Thor, this is a compound fracture. You can see the bone in your leg," The doctor helped the medics shove the demi-God onto the stretcher and keep him still enough to get in an IV line. "No matter how well you may feel, this is bad."

Eyes wide and body tense, Thor attempted to through Bruce away, but the pain was getting to him. And the sight of the wound was making him queasy. Not including the horror of watching the IV needle slide under his skin.

He struggled, wincing away from the needle and doing his best to push away Doctor Banner, who had a slight green tinge to his eyes.

"Don't make me use my full force to hold you down, Thor." Bruce groaned, obviously trying not to use the Hulk.

Finally, after ten long minutes of arguing and thinly veiled threats, Thor conceded to visiting the emergency room. The doctor joined him in the ambulance, keeping a firm grip on the demi-God's arm. It was obvious the IV made them both nervous; Thor wanted to rip it out and Bruce wanted to make sure it was enough for a non-human.

Thor was physically a wreck by the time they got to the hospital. Not only was his wound quite disgusting, filled with gravel and museum-debris, but he had tossed himself about the ambulance, refusing to sit still long enough for the medic to even clean the compound break. Because of all the movement, the bone seemed to be sticking out more than it had before, white peeking through the thick, dirty skin.

At first, the medic said that he'd be off to get a wheelchair to make it easier for Thor, but that just seemed to make him panic even more. His breathing got shallow, eyes twinkling with fright, wildly trying to escape the grip of his teammate.

Bruce, on the other hand, seemed to struggle more with himself than with Thor. The strength he was using was turning his face green, and the frustration with the man's thrashing was getting to him. Only a little bit, but he wouldn't actively admit that. Keeping himself in control was his main focus, more so than keeping Thor from punching a medic and escaping on a badly broken leg.

"There is no need for this, fellow fighter!" The Asgardian argued, trying to pull away. "We must return to the fight, join our brothers- and sister- in arms!" His voice was getting more distraught the close Bruce got to pulling him from the back of the emergency vehicle. Desperation close to the surface made his face flush, his hair mussed with the resistance.

"Thor, this is serious, and anyway, we've already made it all the way here so there is absolutely no way you're getting out of this."

After even more of a challenge getting him from the truck to an exam room, Bruce convinced the nurse to drug Thor up to his eyeballs in the hopes of calming him down. It seemed to work, seeing how Thor stopped trashing and growling, obviously frustrated.

Hours passed, and with the demi-God unconscious, the time passed quite easily. The doctors fixed the break, stitched it up and put a cast on it all before he had time to realize what had happened. That all changed though, once he woke up. Bruce didn't even notice at first, Thor was lying quietly in the bed, hazy from the drugs still. Until he noticed the cast and the stitches peeking over the top and the IV in his hand.

The roar is what caught Bruce's attention, but the loud smash of a machine falling over is what got him turning green.

He had to Hulk out only a little in order to keep Thor from hurting himself even worse. The trouble was, Bruce didn't have much practice in partially Hulking out, so when the nurse came in and screamed, he went full on monster mad. Between Thor throwing a temper tantrum and Banner quickly losing himself to the monster, things were going south. And fast. Thankfully, some sort of sense came over the demi-God and he calmed himself down enough to get the big green guy to go pastel.

"Brother, calm, or you will be a danger." Thor warned, and though that comment could have easily pissed off Bruce (who was the one throwing a tantrum in the first place?), the doctor relaxed slowly and gained control of himself once more.

Once a few minutes passed without a word between either of the men, the tension in the room faded with ease. Thor was still itching and tugging at the IV that Bruce replaced when he was more tan than green. Settled next to the bed, frowning at the trashed equipment that surely would need to be paid for by Shield, Bruce let out a quiet sigh.

"Thor, what was all this about?" He asked, trying to be gentle enough that he didn't sound accusing for the mess that lay around them, but firm enough that Thor didn't feel like he was being babied.

"I apologize, friend, but it was a reaction I committed prior to my thoughts being fully formed on the matter." Thor was obviously sullen, ashamed of what he had done.

Bruce shook his head, now checking over Thor's wounds and making sure he didn't injure himself during those few moments of craziness. There wasn't a tear through any of the visible stitches, but it was certainly redder than it was supposed to be. No doubt some of the stitches beneath the cast ripped and shredded his skin.

"It was more than that, more like you felt your life was on the line," said Bruce, watching the other man squirm under prying fingers and avoiding eye contact. "Is that it?"

"You must understand me, we do not have use of doctors in my world. The injured are not repaired with thread and needles. This place, the people in it and the customs they have, I am not familiar with them."

"They call it iatrophobia. Fear of going to the doctors."

"I am shamed, brother Bruce," the sigh that escaped Thor was pitiful, like he had never felt the feeling before. "This is not how a man in my position should act. I am to be strong, fearful of nothing, yet this is a deplorable scene I have created."

Bruce laid a hand on Thor's giant arm, frowning and nodding. He understood the feeling, absolutely, and he definitely saw where the demi-God was coming from. There was no way Bruce knew how things were back on Asgard, and he would bet every penny he had that he would react the same way if he was being treated with strange magic or aliens. He didn't have the best record for how to handle unfamiliar situations.

"Don't worry, man, you're not the only one who reacts a little over the top."

That got Thor to chuckle heartily, which was a great start to getting the man to relax. Now all Bruce had to do was to get him tranquil enough for the doctor to poke and prod and probably add in a few stitches.

Yeah, like that was going to be easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, i'm sorry for the wait. i'll be honest though, this chapter was hard for me. hopefully the next couple wont be so bad, and they'll be finished sooner! i'm really hoping to get this finished before school starts (in two weeks).


	4. Clint Barton

It was, in all honesty, completely Tony's fault.

Granted, a lot of things could easily be called his fault. But Clint using a stack of black bed sheets and purple towels to descend down the side of Stark tower? Definitely Tony's fault.

It wasn't just the colors that were chosen for his quarters ("But your costume is black and purple! Why would your favorite color be green?!") but the idea of him having quarters somewhere other than the dingy Shield barracks. The horror tore through him so thoroughly that he split the very second he could. Fucking Tony had already taken the liberty of cleaning out his small cubicle of a room at Shield, so when Clint hit the pavement, he hit the ground running.

Not even Natasha dared to track him down for an hour, considering the tantrum he had thrown moments before he had jumped out the window with a stack of freshly laundered bedding. His floor ("An entire fucking floor?! You've got to be kidding!") looked as if it were still under construction, Clint's favorite arrows having detonated the kitchenette while bullet holes littered the Hawkeye-themed lounge.

Really, none of the destruction should have come as a surprise. Tony had access to Clint's file. The secured one that only Fury and Natasha had ever read before, the one about his terrible childhood living in a dingy train where he was nearly tortured by the fucking circus freaks he was raised to consider as family. The very same file that detailed Clint's escape from that life only to be homeless and tortured by the loneliness that followed him.

"What now?" Steve asked, leaning out of the destroyed window. Clint was nowhere in sight.

"I'll get the design team back in here, I can work with green, I suppose-"

"Shut up, Tony," Bruce interrupted, a frown set on his lips. "I'm pretty sure what just happened had more to do with than just the color scheme you had set up for him."

Stark waved him off, already prattling off changes to make to the room, loudly considering adding more bird-themes if he couldn't work off the colors of Hawkeye's uniform.

Well, he was going on and on until Natasha had walked up to him and promptly slapped him. That got him out of his rant, but it also riled up his anger.

"Hey! Look, I'm sure the kid has his panties in a twist for more than the colors, but he's not going to just tell me about it. He's gone off God knows where, and you know he wont be found unless he wants to be, so it's useless going on a manhunt right now. In case you didn't notice, he's destroyed most of his floor, and ended up blowing up part of Thor's ceiling. And those bullets probably went straight into the ridiculous paintings that Pepper chose for Barton's living space, if I don't fix shit up right now, you know she'll ride my ass until the end of time."

Natasha decided to leave before she did more than just hit Tony. On the other hand, Steve and Bruce both folded their arms and planted their feet. They might not be able to find the archer, but Natasha probably could. And with her off fetching the temperamental Clint, the two of them could deal with Tony and his ridiculous ideas. After all, that's the entire reason they were in this position in the first place.

"Tony, get it through your head: it's more than what it seems," Bruce said, pinching at his nose. "Clint's more important than Pepper's reaction to the destruction. I'm pretty sure she would even agree."

"And what do you expect me to do, Banner? If you haven't noticed, Barton has run away! I can't calm his tail feathers if he isn't even around to feel the heavy petting."

Bruce groaned and turned away, grumbling to himself about Tony not knowing how to take anything seriously. Before Steve could put in his two cents and go all Captain on Tony, Natasha came marching back into the room, Pepper at her heels and Clint trailing along behind.

"Pepper caught him trying to scale the wall." She announced, crossing her arms.

"I left my bow. Once I have that, I'm out." Hawkeye announced, crossing the room without looking at a single occupant.

Bruce and Steve blocked his way before he could sneak past, and Natasha had not-so-subtly placed herself in front of the window. Without an easy way out, it was obvious his next task was going to be searching for hard ways out. Knowing this ahead of time, Pepper walked up to him, beautiful and poised as ever, the click of her heels muted by the carpeting, and grabbed him by his chin.

"Clint, don't run from us," She let him go but didn't move out of his way. Instead, Pepper leaned in closely and flashed him a small, sweet smile. "We care about you. I know it can be scary, being thrown into a situation like this without any warning, but we just want you to join us and enjoy. We're your family."

As soon as the final words were out of her mouth, Clint sprang back as if he had been shocked. Natasha appeared out of thin air and grabbed his arm tight enough that he winced. His fight-or-flight instinct was kicking in full force, and if she didn't have super-assassin training, he probably could have had her on her back in a second flat. Instead, though, Natasha's glare held him in place.

"I see the problem," Bruce's quiet voice broke through the sudden tension. "This isn't about the color choices, or even Tony's stupid idea to move you in before he even told you about it. I'm sorry, Clint, that I didn't realize sooner."

Everyone was looking between the two, utter confusion written across all of their faces. Except Natasha, who automatically got his drift and changed her death-grip on the archer's arm to a comforting arm slung around his shoulders.

"You don't know," Clint grunted. "How could you possibly understand?"

"I may not have read your file, but I'm not stupid. I hear what people say, I've managed to pick things up on each of you. I guess I just didn't think to piece together the stories about you until now."

As the scene was quieting down, the team members shifted out of their combat-ready stances. This was a story that none of them wanted to miss out on, apparently. Much to the dismay of Clint. He knew what was coming: pity.

"Don't, Banner. Don't go and feel sorry for me just because you finally know my back-story. 'Oh no, the kid was abused and abandoned'," He mocked, voice grating. "'Oh, how sad, even his so-called family consists of psychos and circus freaks'-"

"That's not what I was going to say," Interrupted Bruce, holding a hand up to stop the flow of Clint's self-hatred. "What I meant was I know why you don't want to live with people. Why you've even turned down Natasha and Coulson as roommate offers. It's called eicophobia."

"Eico-what?" Tony asked, head tilting like a confused puppy. It was far less cute on him.

"Eicophobia. The fear of home surroundings. It usually happens after a negative incident, after which the person considers the home to be a dangerous place. In this case, there are two places that Clint relates to home."

"My childhood home. I don't remember it very well. I do remember the beatings. The ones that Barney would take for me. The one he didn't. Where my father beat me until I went partially deaf," Clint took a deep breath, back to avoiding everyone's gaze. So few people knew of his hearing problems, even less knew about his brother. "The only other home was the circus train. They beat me just as bad, and then told me I should be thankful because they took Barn and I in."

"Don't worry, Clint. This won't be the same. We truly care about you." Steve replied, nodding to try and convince him.

"Yeah, and this time, if you want to leave, you can just kick our asses then use your arrows to blow a hole in the wall and then to swing away like Spiderman." Tony grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n - it's been a long time coming, i know. butttt, finals are over & i don't work too often, so i'm hoping to have this finished soon. new stories will (hopefully) come soon after that.


	5. Natasha Romanov

"She's in the hospital."

...

"You can't do that, she wont allow it."

...

"No, I don't think you understand."

...

"It's not a regular hospital... It's a mental hospital."

...

"Don't shout. There's no reason to yell at me, Barton. You know how Natasha is."

...

"It was all code orange until a nurse suggested she needed help using the restroom. After she had already made the insinuation that Natasha couldn't feed herself."

...

"Well, the nurse ended up in ICU. Now we're here. If you're thinking of telling the others: don't. If you must blab, tell Bruce. He understands these things."

Coulson hung up after Clint's worried voice trailed off, at a loss of things to say. Their Natasha; resilient Black Widow, frightening assassin, beautiful, trained, deadly killer. Stuck in a mental hospital. Neither of them really knew what to do about it.

Of course she'd been in the hospital before, tied down with feeding tubes shoved down her throat or what have you. But this was different. She was hardly hurt- just a broke leg, some fractured ribs and a concussion.

Natasha fumed at the suggestion that she needed help. The implication that she couldn't do such simple tasks on her own, that she could hardly live without assistance...

It drove her over the edge.

Granted, with the Widow, you could hardly tell where one edge ended and the next started.

But her rage was palpable. Within the next five minutes, the nurse, two doctors, and a security guard all felt it first hand.

"Nat?" Phil knocked on her half-closed door, pushing it open to look at the woman sitting on the edge of the bed. She was tense; back rigid and fingers digging into her thighs just barely tight enough to make impressions. If he could see her emotions that clearly, then they really had to be strong.

"I don't need any help, Phil. Retreat." Eyes staring forward, her fingers clenched the tiniest amount.

"Nat, I spoke with Clint. I have a feeling he'll be coming here."

"To coddle me? Like I'm a fucking child?" Natasha spat, baring her teeth.

"To comfort you, I assume, like a friend," Coulson leaned against the wall, knowing better than to let her bully him into leaving. "Bruce might come as well."

"Oh, wonderful. Another doctor to grate on my nerves." He didn't reply. Instead, he left her room and ushered in the two men (apparently Stark had been listening in and was more than willing to loan out one of his personal cars to cut the journey in half). Clint's face was deprived of its usual cheer, and Bruce didn't look like he was fairing any better. For Natasha, of all people, to lose control of herself, it had to be something important.

"You better go in alone, Banner."

The doctor nodded, ringing his hands together nervously. No one ever remembered that he wasn't that sort of doctor. And even if he was... this place was already full of people to talk to, was there really any need to him to push the Widow too far?

"Natasha?" His voice was soft, the way he spoke when he was dealing with another Avenger when they were asking like a petulant toddler. "Hey, they told me about what happened. Any reason you attacked the nurse?"

"That woman," Natasha's voice was at a hiss, her eyes narrowed in his direction. "Dared to imply that I can't do things on my own. As if I need her! Or anyone else!"

Bruce simply nodded, hesitating in the doorway but for a moment before sitting beside her on the bed. He didn't touch her or even look in her direction. Studying the plain cream-colored wall in front of them, he hummed softly. He could feel her seething next to him.

"Why did it bother you so much?" Banner's voice was soft, gentle, completely void of judgment.

"I'm a professional killer!" Romanov started, lifting her fingers from her legs and curling them into tight fists. "I've been on my own for most of my life, why should I start relying on others now?"

Again, he didn't reply for a few moments. Picking at a thread on his trousers, Bruce nodded. His quiet demeanor was driving her mad- couldn't he share her anger? Of course, that probably wasn't the best idea, but at least she wouldn't be looking a fool.

"How did you feel, physically?"

Thrown by this question, Natasha paused. She had been asked time and time again what had gone through her head, what emotions she had felt. But physically? She hadn't considered that a factor before.

"I felt short of breath. Shaky. Like I had run miles and miles and didn't have a drop of water. You know, sweating but dry. Heart pounding would be the most accurate description, physically and emotionally."

Fuck, he was silent again. Picking at that fucking string on his pants and barely glancing at her. Hell, he was getting along better with the wall.

"I think you have soteriophobia," He told her, finally looking in her direction and flashing a small, sad smile. "It's the fear of depending on others-"

"Ridiculous, I just don't see the point in trusting others if I can do things on my own-"

"Tasha, you know it's more than that," Bruce's quiet sigh washed over them and bathed them in momentary silence. "You attacked four people. Even in the past, you've refused Steve's offer to pick you up groceries, or Tony's offer to give you rides. If you don't do things for yourself, if you can't do things for yourself, you go into panic mode. And, unfortunately, your panic mode is not just physical anxiety, but anger that you take out on others."

"Soteriophobia..." Natasha grumbled, tasting the words and spitting them back out like cheap vodka. Her next words were muffled, and Bruce frowned at her.

"What was that?"

"I said," Her words still sounded angry, but the way her fingers wrapped around his open, waiting palm told another story. "I think you might be right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i sort of totally ship natasha/bruce. either way, i'm hoping to have the next (and final!) chapter out before the new year. wish me luck.


	6. Bruce Banner

Bruce was alone, sitting on the couch in the communal living room in the newly named "Avengers Tower". Everyone else, the rest of the superhero team, were in the adjoined kitchen. Whispering. About him.

They had known from the beginning that he was dangerous. There was always a change for him to go green, always the threat of him turning into the monster. Having worked with him for so long, worked with Bruce Banner, the doctor, and Hulk, the monster. He had told them his triggers- most of them, at least. Not all of them.

Not the most important one.

The one that had put all of their lives in danger, in their own home.

Yeah, a lot of his triggers were only things that happened when they were needed to save the world. Half of them were things that existed in movies, but he had trained himself and conditioned himself to not react. He could watch the most violent of movies and barely blink an eye. Banner had such tight control over so much of his life that so little triggered him anymore. He could stand next to his fellow Avengers and fight for whatever city they were saving that week, but he couldn't let anyone touch him at home.

It happened on the way out of the elevator. Bruce was calm, content, ready for his night of doing the dishes (but picking the movie or board game or video game). He was stepping out onto the communal floor when Steve grabbed him by the arm. The man was only trying to pull him out of the way of Clint and Tony's marshmallow throwing battle, but the touch was such a surprise that Bruce couldn't control the monster inside of him.

Before he knew what was happening, he had thrown Steve against the nearest wall and had grown out of his shirt. All of the commotion around them had stopped- the marshmallow fight and even Natasha and Thor's cheering them on, betting on who would win. The silence was nearly as frightening as the shock of the Hulk barging in through the room.

It took nearly an hour for them to calm the doctor back into his human form, and they (Clint) nearly made the mistake of grabbing him again to set him on the couch.

Even now, three hours after the original Hulk-ing out, Bruce still had a green tinge overall. At least he was saved total embarrassment thanks to Natasha fetching an un-ripped pair of sweats from his quarters.

Bruce's mind was flooded with thoughts of how careless he had been. How foolish he was to think he could live with these people. He dared to believe he had the control to associate with a handful of people he nearly considered friends, and yet he was stupid enough to leave out one giant factor of his personality.

An angry voice broke him from his thoughts.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ah, Tony. What a great way to start a conversation.

"Well, clinically speaking-" Bruce started, clearing his throat nervously.

"No!" Tony interrupted him, pointing an angry finger in the doctor's direction. "We're all fucked up, I get it, Banner, I really do. But when I brought all of you into this home, my home, I expected each and every single one of you to be straight forward about things that would concern us all. I remodeled Clint's entire floor to make it feel safe for him. I made sure that your floor and Thor's were both impossibly unbreakable. I asked question after question, done everything to make sure we were in a safe environment, and you left out the tiny little detail that you can't be touched without freaking the fuck out?"

"It's called-"

"I don't care about your fancy words! You've given us all the pleasure of your expansive knowledge, great, but how about being real for a minute?"

"Hear me out-"

"We all understood the risk, Bruce. Living with you, there was always a slim chance of a Hulk out during battle-free time. We're lucky it was Steve's unbreakable body that ended up your victim, because not all of us could have survived that-"

"Tony, stop," Steve put a hand on Tony's shoulder and frowned, looking at Bruce with concern written all over his face. He didn't look any worse for the wear. "I don't think what you're saying is helping anything. Doctor Banner, I think I can speak for the team when I say we all have our personal issues. But none of our issues were quite to the point of this. Tony not liking to undress in front of others? Basically harmless to the rest of us. Thor hating doctors and needles? Sure, I think a few people walked away with bruises after that last debacle, but no one was seriously injured."

"Haptephobia." Whispered Bruce. His hands were gripping tightly to the edge of the couch, eyes cast down to the group of feet in front of him.

"What does that mean?" Steve's voice was much more calm than Tony's had been, but there was an underlying tone that gave Bruce chills. He didn't realize not sharing this part of him would have such a big impact on the others.

"Fear of being touched," Bruce clarified, clearing his throat again and risking a look into the faces of his peers. Most of the faces were carefully blank, emotionless, but Tony's was still full of anger. "Ever since the change it's been... difficult. Everything would set me off. I grew to control myself, keep myself calm in situations that were stressful or painful or even scary. But one thing I could never move past was being touched, especially without warning. It's different, us out in the streets, tracking down the evil genius or alien of the week. Cap patting my back or Thor dragging me away from a laser being shot in my direction, that was all easy because I was already turning into him. But here, where I let my guard down and live with some of the craziest people I have ever met, I didn't think-"

"That's fucking obvious-" Tony grunted.

"-I didn't know. And I'm sorry. Really. And Tony, I'm sorry to you. You put your trust in us and asked that we do the same for you. I was fearful that if I told you the truth, that if I told you that you can't even touch me without me going green, then you wouldn't want me here. I assumed that I would bee seen as too much of a danger and I wouldn't be allowed to stay."

The silence that followed bothered Bruce. He didn't expect it, least of all from Tony. The anger that had been so evident had faded away, replaced with someone akin to pity. Bruce didn't want pity, but it was better than being loathed.

"I don't think of you as a threat." Steve spoke up, stepping forward, putting out a hand like he wanted to pat Bruce's shoulder before thinking better of it and simply holding it out for the doctor to shake. Bruce shook it slowly, surprised at the camaraderie.

Soon enough, everyone else had come forward to shake his hand, grip his shoulder, smile at him and tell him that they didn't mind. That they would find a way to work with this stipulation, just like they had done for everyone else.

Even Tony mellowed out and grabbed Bruce's offered hand.

"Anything else to share, Banner?" He asked, raising an eyebrow but smirking easily.

"No, I think you know about pretty much all my crazy now."

Things might have calmed down, but Bruce didn't feel at ease. Even with everyone sitting around him now, arguing about what to order for dinner, or if they should cook for themselves for once, he felt off balance.

Finally he told them the truth, and they had perfectly accepted it (after a bit of yelling and gossiping). For so long, he had been dealing with other people's problems, being the sort of doctor he really wasn't equipped to be. And now, surrounded by friends, he was let off the hook. They could do the same for him.

What were friends for, after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay! final chapter, there you go. i've enjoyed writing this, and i'd really love some feedback! i've already started work on new fics, a variety of fandoms, so keep an eye out!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - Okay, so another Avengers multi-parter. Didn't do much research on the phobias, so sorry if they're not completely accurate. Also, js, not really IM3 compliant, but there may be small non-spoilery references because I enjoyed that movie a hell of a lot. The other chapters will get a bit more into the emotions behind the phobia, so stick with me. :)


End file.
